


The Dangers of Texting Anderson

by CoolCarrot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Night with Anderson Alone, Anderlock, Anderson being Anderson, Awkward Anderson, Banter, Compromise, Confessions, Crack, Deductions, Developing Relationship, Dinosaurs, Dirty Talk, Fighting, Floor Sex, Head-Canon, Humor, It Started With a Text, Jealous John, Johnlock - Freeform, Just Read it for the Ending, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being a Bitch, Smut, Tea, Texting, That Beginning, That Ending, That Everything, Violence, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?, references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolCarrot/pseuds/CoolCarrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Text: It Begins.</p>
<p>An Agreement: To be "kind and considerate" for 1 hour.  </p>
<p>A Complication: Physical violence.</p>
<p>A Discovery: Sherlock + Anderson + Sex = Pleasurable?</p>
<p>And Forgotten: John's imminent return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter doesn't involve smut as it is consists of very much necessary texting between Anderson and Sherlock. It is rated M for later on (possibly for physical violence too)... ;)

**Thursday 09/01 - 6:10 PM**

_How was it that_ I _wasn't invited to the Christmas party? -Anderson_ **  
  
  
✓** **Seen 6:11 PM**  

* * *

 **7:11 PM**  
  
Why, so you could lower everyone's IQ? I am certain you already achieved that throughout the pretentious text you so recently sent. -SH

* * *

**7:15 PM**

_An explanation to the reason in which I wasn't invited -Anderson  
                Apparently there was a lot of hot people there -Anderson  
                                All the more reason why I'm so confused as to which I wasn't invited -Anderson_

* * *

Why humans today are so fascinated with the concept of someone's body temperature being higher than the usual average of 37°C, I'll never understand. - SH  
                And it's 'were'*, Anderson. It hurts to comprehend the shallowness of your being.  
I already formerly disclosed the notion to which you weren't invited; this affair purely for those only of the highest intelligence. Inadvertently, the majority of the multitude appearing attractive.  
At least that's what happened to be of discussion. I see past looks and find myself attracted to the mind, rather than how often a person eats. -SH  
                                The Christmas gathering is of the past and will continue to exist in that form. Go back to being a sniffer dog. If you really wish to travel in time, go watch that ridiculous show with the blue box. John is strangely fond of it. -SH

* * *

 **7:16 PM** _  
  
Your a complete prat. -Anderson_

* * *

You're*. -SH

* * *

 _Look, Sherlock, I might not be the smartest apple on the tree, but I can't exactly help not being a total genius. Some of us aren't born with it, sorry. Also, Watson's really not that clever -Anderson  
_  
  
 **✓** **Seen 7:16 PM**  

* * *

 **7:18 PM**  
  
You can at least attempt to conceal your shallow mannerisms and/or try harder to decrease your stupidity. Also, John is far cleverer than you could ever assimilate. He displays it in his own unique fashion. Are you capable of identifying each bone in the human body or leading a military attack in Afghanistan? -SH  
                Might I add, the problem with trying to offend me is that I have no care or consent for your word. -SH

* * *

 **7:20 PM**  
  
 _No, but I don't need to know whatever a skeleton's parts are called or how to lead people into a freaking battle. I'm a scientist, not a soldier. -Anderson  
                I can identify 20 different types of glass fractures and how they're caused, the effects of sunlight on a corpses' skin, ballistic markings, and I know the periodic table off by heart. -Anderson  
                                I'm not as thick as you might think. I know _ some _things. -Anderosn  
                                                *Anderson  
_

* * *

 **7:21PM  
**  
Really? And yet you cannot even spell your own name correctly? -SH  
                You may not possess the traits and abilities of a soldier, and John perhaps not that of a forensic scientist, though I know if you were to switch positions, John would achieve far greater than you ever could. Can you even throw a punch? -SH

* * *

 _Whatever, Sherlock. And it's called 'my fingers are way too big for the keys on this phone'. Have you even seen_ my _hands? -Anderson_

 

* * *

 **7:22 PM _  
_**  
Yes. What does that have to do with anything? -SH

**✓** **Seen 7:22 PM**  

* * *

 **7:25 PM**  
   
 _The size of my dick ;) -Anderson  
_

  
**✓** **Seen 7:25 PM**  

* * *

**7:26 PM**

I fear for humanity. -SH

* * *

_You should. -Anderson_

 

* * *

Regardless, my hands are larger in span, width and length, thus being more difficult for myself to type. Yet I still manage to spell correctly. -SH

* * *

_Well I can also spell acurately. -Anderson_

  
**✓** **Seen 7:27 PM**  

 

* * *

 **7:29 PM** _  
  
_Oh, the irony. -SH

* * *

_We have different phones, you know. Mine has smaller keys. We're both men here. At least I hope so. -Anderson_

 

* * *

Want to find out? -SH

* * *

_Sure. -Anderson_

* * *

**7:30 PM**

Good God, Anderson. -SH  
                Nevertheless, you possessing a mobile with keys supposedly too small for your lady-like fingers, even if you are of the male sex, and I owning a phone of average size with large hands suggests we are equal in our difficulties. Yet I continue to achieve far greater in my command of the English language. -SH

* * *

**7:31 PM**

_I do not have 'lady-like' fingers! -Anderson_

 

* * *

Yes, you do. Really. -SH

* * *

_Why the heck are we arguing about spelling anyways? -Anderson_

 

* * *

God knows. Do you see what I mean by 'lowering the IQ of those around you'? -SH

* * *

_IQ isn't infectious, Sherlock. I think you're the idiot here. -Anderson  
_

* * *

**7:32 PM**

Actually, studies have shown it is. Those you choose to spend time with tend to either be brought up or perhaps down in their IQ depending on how quick their significant other is. Ever heard the phrase, 'success breeds success'? -SH 

* * *

_Well then I suppose I'm still right, considering I'm not your 'significant other'. -Anderson_

 

* * *

True, but if we ever became more than friends, what I listed above is plausible. -SH  
                So chances are, I'd bring you up to average, you'd bring me down to average. We'd both be average. And where is the fun in that? Actually, forget that. I would stay the same. You're too stupid to even bring me down to average, for God's sake. -SH

* * *

 **7:33 PM**  
   
 _How does it feel to never have had sex? -Anderson_

  
**✓** **Seen 7:33 PM**  

 

* * *

**7:34 PM**

I do not discuss these matters with delinquents such as yourself. -SH

* * *

_How does it feel, Sherlock, to know nobody has ever wanted to go that far with you? -Anderson_

* * *

Oh, they have wanted it. I am always the one who has to say no. Isn't it terrible, the way the body feels the need to so frequently reproduce? -SH

* * *

 **7:35 PM**  
   
 _Oh really? So who have these people been? -Anderson  
                People who barely know you? Randoms off the street? -Anderson  
                                Let's face it- no one who knows you would ever want to have sex with you. -Anderson_

* * *

That is absolutely none of your business. But by your keen interest in the subject I can see you wish to become one of them. -SH

**✓** **Seen 7:35 PM**  

* * *

**7:36 PM**

_WHAT? The reason I brought it up is because it's one of your flaws. -Anderson_

 

 

* * *

Ha, you should be telling yourself this. It would take me at least half an hour to deduce every imperfection of your sex life, which mainly consists of infidelity. Simply cast a glance at yourself and Donovan. How long has the affair existed now? 2 years, 5 months and 3 days, is it? Perhaps it's time to give your wife a call. How you even achieved marriage is beyond me. Though I wouldn't exactly describe it as an _achievement_ , of sorts.-SH

**✓** **Seen 7:36 PM**  

* * *

**7:38 PM  
**  
 _30 minutes isn't long. -Anderson  
                That's fucking creepy. Why would you even want to know how long we have been together? -Anderson  
_

* * *

I am capable of deducing the deepest and most carefully guarded secrets of a subject's life within 2 minutes, if not on sight. 30 minutes is an excruciatingly long length of time needed to deduce so little. -SH  
                Ah, so you admit it then. -SH

* * *

**7:39 PM**

_A 'subject's' life? You can't even acknowledge people as... people! -Anderson  
                It's kind of obvious you already know and that nothing's going to change that for you. My last point was that no one likes you. No one wants sex with you. You're alone and always will be. -Anderson_

* * *

Sex is dull regardless. -SH  
You do realise I live with a flatmate?  
Flat: Living Quarters.  
Mate: Friend.  
                Hence the word, 'flatmate'. -SH _  
_

* * *

**7:40 PM**

_Everyone wants sex. Everyone has a sex drive, apart from little old ladies and men. -Anderson  
                How do you even know it's dull if you never tried it? -Anderson  
                                That's not an offer, by the way. -Anderson_

* * *

 I merely choose to practice abstinence. Look up the meaning in a dictionary; if you even know what that is. -SH  
                Oh and it's absurd that you need to engage in something before you can formulate an opinion on the matter. Some believe sport is dull when they probably haven't even kicked a ball or ran a mile in their life. -SH  
                                Suggesting it was not an offer gives me reason to believe you were thinking about it. -SH

* * *

  _I brang it up because it makes you feel uncomfortable when you diss someone over one of their flaws. I wanted to make you feel what it was like. -Anderson_

* * *

Holding grudges and attempting to hurt someone else only ends up hurting the assailant. In this case, it's yourself. -SH  
                Brang is not a word. The word you needed - probably still do - was 'brought'. -SH

**✓** **Seen 7:40PM**  

* * *

**7:42 PM**  
  
 _Who cares. -Anderson_

* * *

I do. -SH

* * *

**7:43 PM**

_And guess what. It doesn't matter, because this isn't fucking english class. -Anderon  
                 *Anderson_

 

* * *

There is no need to butcher the English language. You have already caused too much unnecessary harm. –SH  
                  Honestly? You learn to spell your own name before school. -SH

* * *

_Yeah, guess that doesn't happen with you because you're so up yourself you think you win even though you've lost. -Anderson  
_

* * *

And swearing now? That's a sign of a low vocabulary. -SH

* * *

**7:44 PM**

_Interesting. Did you know that I don't care?  -Anderson_

* * *

Finally, you're learning. Caring is a liability. -SH

* * *

_NOT EVERYONE needs to be as smart as you, Sherlock. Not everyone wants to be. -Anderon_

* * *

Lord have mercy, do I need to send you back to kindergarten so you can relearn to spell your own name correctly? -SH  
                And that is your opinion, in which I previously explained, I have no care for. -SH _  
_

* * *

**7:45 PM**

_Yeah, sure, send me back to kindergarten. -Anderson  
                While you're at it, maybe you can come with me and learn about how to not be a complete and utter ass. Also manners -Anderson  
_

* * *

West Sussex Kindergarten, wasn't it? -SH

**✓** **Seen 7:45PM**  

* * *

 **7:47 PM  
** _  
How the hell did you know that. -Anderson  
                Are you stalking me? -Anderson_

* * *

Oh, and to your previous comment, on a daily basis, you will not gain anything by masquerading your feelings towards a matter. You do not want to live your life as a lie, trying to impress people who will potentially believe that lie, and thus continue it in that form. If that's who you are, that's who you are. For me, manners are a complete and utter waste of time. -SH

* * *

 **7: 48 PM**  
   
 _I actually feel sorry for you. -Anderson_

 

* * *

You also asked how I knew your kindergarten? Dud iced it by the soil on your shoes last week. You visited your nephew, and being your sister's brother, you would have went to the same kindergarten. It's obvious she would have sent her son to the same place she, and thus you went. Humans: far too sentimental. -SH  
                Deduced it*. -SH

* * *

**7:49 PM**

_Dud iced? Seems like I'm not the only one who needs to relearn how to spell things. -Anderson  
_

* * *

At least I can correct my spelling mistakes. -SH

* * *

_There's no point. -Anderson_

* * *

Auto-correct, in case you were wondering. The darn phone won't allow me to turn it off. -SH

* * *

 _And a luddite too. -Anderson_  
  
   
 **✓** **Seen 7:50PM**   

* * *

**8:01 PM**

Still there? Or have you fallen asleep? -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:03 PM**  

* * *

**8:03 PM**

_Yes. I am tired though. -Adnerson  
_

* * *

Anderson*.  
It's only eight? -SH  
I tend not to sleep. -SH _  
_

* * *

_Big night, last night was. -A  
Of course you don't. You're probably not even human. -A_

* * *

Getting lazy now, _A_? -SH  
                Yes, I'm part Timelord. What do you think I am? From Raxacoricofallapatorius? A Na'vi from that ridiculous _Avatar_ movie? -SH

* * *

 **8:04 PM** _  
  
That's really specific. Do you fancy yourself as an avatar, Sherlock? You've certainly got the alien bit about you. -A_

* * *

Being an extra-terrestrial would mean I wouldn't have to suffer through listening to your incompetence. So, yes. I do 'fancy' myself as one. -SH

* * *

_How would it mean you wouldn't have to listen to me? Aliens can still hear me, you know. -A_

* * *

Obviously I'd exist on a different planet. I wouldn't even know you.  -SH

* * *

_Then I'll come on the human's ship and find you in the jungle swinging from the trees like a crazed monkey. -A  
_

* * *

Perhaps I would have the fortune of you exterminating my being at first sight. Putting me out of the misery I'd inhabit when discovering your insufferable existence. Though for I to kill you would be a far greater privilege. -SH

* * *

 **8:05 PM** _  
  
Wait, are you an actual alien or just an avatar? -A_

* * *

Whatever you want. As long as I'm on a planet far from yours. -SH

* * *

_Right, well I'm an avatar. Guess you're the native. -A  
                Who would your navi wife be then? Every navi has a partner. -A  
                                Who would you link ponytails with??? -A_

* * *

 It is not of your concern who my partner would be. By any means, I'm certain it would be a liability to even have one.  -SH  
                Whoever said that the marriage needed to be with that of a woman? -SH

* * *

 _Wasn't there something about how everyone gets to choose a wife or something in the movie? -A_  
                _So you'd be a homo navi. Nice. -A_

* * *

**8:06 PM**

The gender of my partner is irrelevant as I'd be isolated from the rest of the race. A hermit native, I suppose you'd call me. Someone who does not risk living with others as they are unbelievably problematic. You witnessed the havoc the humans brought to their home? The huge tree? I'd survive far from the mass destruction, guaranteeing my own safety as a Na'vi. Of course John would be with me as well. I'd need someone to make the tea. -SH

* * *

_Who said John was a navi? -A  
_

* * *

Who didn't? -SH

* * *

_You need to ask him. You can't just say he's an alien. -A  
_

* * *

Perhaps he was in fact an Avatar, but cleverly decided living with me (and free of you) was a much more suitable lifestyle, so he permanently switched bodies. Similar to Jake and Natari's situation, I believe. -SH

* * *

_So you want to get with John in alien form? I knew you two were shagging. -A_

**✓** **Seen 8:06PM**  

* * *

 **8:09 PM**  
  
Why the hell are we even having this conversation? This is utterly ridiculous. It seems that for the IQ of a conversation to be decreased, the second contributor does not need to be a significant other after all. -SH

* * *

_I thought it was quite insightful. -A  
_

* * *

Says the idiot. -SH

* * *

_Says the person who continued on with the 'idiot's' conversation instead of stopping it. -A  
                In fact, I think you started this! -A_

* * *

Fortunately I did end it before we both lost our minds. Yes, I started it; the most probable reason why it continued for such a great length of time. -SH  
  
  
 **✓** **Seen 8:09 PM**   

* * *

**8:11 PM**  
  
 _I would sneak up behind you and link ponytails just to create an inseparable bond between us just to annoy you. -A_

* * *

So in other words, you're saying that you'd want to engage in sexual intercourse with me? -SH

* * *

_That's not sex, idiot. -A  
                If it was sex then the aliens would be having sex with those dinosaur thingies they ride and the horses. Ew. -A_

* * *

**8:12 PM**

I'm terribly sorry to be the one to break this to you, but in their world, that is how you 'make love'. Though the Na’vi don’t reproduce with this method, it has been known to be an erotic experience you don’t simply share with anyone. -SH  
                The bond created between the Na'vi and the animal is completely different. -SH  
                                Though it's your perfect world. You wouldn't mind having sex with a dinosaur, would you? -SH

* * *

_What? Are you kidding me? -A  
                And where did that come from? -A_

* * *

Anderson, it's plainly obvious you have a strong liking towards creatures from the pre-historic time. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:12 PM**  

* * *

**8:14 PM**

_Just like you're interested in dismembered body parts, but you still don't want to have with them. I hope. -A_

* * *

No, I do not hunger to 'have with them'. Though you on the other hand (pun intended); you frequently masturbate to the images of dinosaurs. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:14 PM**  

* * *

**8:18 PM**

_What the fuck? I do not. That's creepy. Stop ruining my hobby. -A_

* * *

Your hobby of getting off with a dinosaur? -SH

* * *

_NO -A_

* * *

_It would appear everyone has their strange hobbies. John likes to pretend he is a hobbit being taken to Isengard. And before that, in a search of treasure guarded by a dragon with extremely similar vocal chords to mine. -SH  
_

* * *

Oh really? Then what's your strange hobby? -A

* * *

 _Solving crimes, obviously. -SH  
  
  
_ **✓** **Seen 8:18 PM**  

* * *

**8:19 PM**

You know that's not what I meant. -A

* * *

_Quadruple-Homicides, etc. -SH_

* * *

Ok, so killing people. Knew it. -A

* * *

**8:20 PM**

No, _solving_ quadruple-homicides. Read into the context, please. -SH  
                Though if you really wish to be enlightened... No, I won't tell you. Not yet. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:20 PM**  

* * *

**8:22 PM**  
  
 _Not yet? Do I have to go through long and challenging trials before I can know? -A_

* * *

Yes. -SH

* * *

_Hmm. -A  
                Like what? -A_

* * *

Simply gain my trust. -SH 

* * *

**8:23 PM**

_How? -A_  

* * *

That is something that cannot be taught. I cannot tell you how. You must decide that for yourself. -SH

* * *

_I guess you want this to be kept a secret? I promise not to tell anyone. -A  
_

* * *

Ahem. I cannot believe you'll keep that promise until I have gained the necessary trust I require of you. -SH  
                For an obvious example, you could become considerate. Like John. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:23 PM**  

* * *

 **8:24 PM** _  
  
Considerate? How have I not been considerate? -A_

* * *

 

Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you should reread our previous thread of texts? -SH 

* * *

_You've been way more less considerate than me. -A_

 

* * *

If you believe that is considerate, then there is something very, deeply wrong infecting the innermost parts of your mind. -SH

* * *

 _I_ _'m not changing my attitude towards you until you do the same. It's only fair. -A  
_

  
**✓** **Seen 8:24 PM**  

* * *

**8: 26 PM**

True, but that is not the point. You are the one attempting to gain my trust. Not the other way around. -SH

* * *

_Still not going to change until you do too. -A  
_

* * *

How about a compromise? Come over to the flat. For one entire hour, beginning when you arrive, we will both attempt the act of being kind and considerate towards one another. For this does not include the changing of personal morals or beliefs. We still have our rights. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:27 PM**  

* * *

 **8: 31 PM** _  
  
Are you serious? -A  
_

  
**✓** **Seen 8:32 PM**  

* * *

**8: 33 PM**

When am I not? -SH

* * *

_When you're saying that I get off from dinosaurs. -A_

* * *

 But you do. -SH

* * *

  _Just no. -A  
                Hm, and when you're talking about how you'd rather be a blue alien on another planet. -A_

* * *

 **8: 34 PM**  
  
Dull. What is your point? -SH

* * *

_That you're not serious all the time. But I guess I could come over. -A_

  
**✓** **Seen 8:36 PM**  

* * *

**8:37 PM**

Firstly, you _do_ get off with dinosaurs (look at your right hand), and secondly, if I could, I would become an E.T. (depending on the species, of course). It would make for an interesting experiment. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:37 PM**  

* * *

**8:40 PM**

_God, I DO NOT. But I'll never convince you otherwise, so I give up. -A_

* * *

Yes, come over. Meet me here in roughly half an hour. It should be 9:14PM by the time you arrive, but of course you'll come later now, just to prove I timed your journey's travel time incorrectly. -SH  
                Yes, I suggest you do give up. After all that is one thing you are superior at. -SH  
                                As soon as you step through the door, our deal will begin. -SH  
                                                I'll time it on my phone. Precisely one hour. No more, no less. -SH

**✓** **Seen 8:40 PM**  

* * *

**8:42 PM**

_Precisely? What if there's traffic? -A_

* * *

You'll see. -SH

* * *

_Fine. -A_

* * *

 


	2. Deducing Anderson

It was exactly 9:20PM when Anderson arrived at the front door of 221b Baker Street. He hesitated, gritting his teeth before swallowing the emotion and allowing himself to knock twice – not too subtly; not too brashly.

"Glad you could make it." Sherlock spoke with nonchalance, instantaneously clicking the lock open and twisting at the cool metal of the aged door handle. Pulling the thick barrier of wood ajar, Sherlock arrived face-to-face with Anderson; the timber no longer separating them. 

Anderson was dressed in his typical attire: a black blazer, an unusually black collared shirt and freshly pressed trousers. His unkempt fringe was spread without care across his forehead.

"Though I did see you hiding behind that corner—" The detective clucked his tongue and pointed lazily toward the old brick wall several meters away, "—for a good six minutes." He had carefully observed the affair unfold before his eyes from the protection of his second-story window. Behind a rather conveniently placed curtain, quite snug and secure within his own flat, he might add. Sherlock allowed a smug smile to tug at his lips.

Anderson rolled his eyes choosing to ignore Sherlock's unfavourably true comment. He pushed past the detective and stepped inside. "Is Watson home?" He threw his coat over the rack.

"He's gone out drinking with Stamford. Should be absent for another few hours." The words slipped without thought from Sherlock's lips; his mind neglecting the current conversation and rather focusing elsewhere. 

The detective had quickly gathered a small collection of knowledge about the man stood before him. This had begun as soon as he'd set eyes on Anderson, perched comfortably at the flat's seasonable windowsill. He would delete the information after the man's hopefully soon departure. 

Sherlock launched himself into a silent, calculated deduction: 

[Dark smudges beneath the eyes indicated fatigue; perhaps caused by insomnia. (Though more likely due to excessive amounts of late hours used working on "difficult" cases. At least difficult for the stupid (Anderson). Too obvious for Sherlock's brilliant mind.)   
Unusually prominent cheekbones: eating less. (Self-conscious towards body; towards weight. Wants to look good for current lover (Who?).)  
Left foot slightly raised at heel: injured ankle (twisted?); most likely due to long, unexpected chase of a criminal – no, criminals (three) – wearing uncomfortable shoes and slipped.   
Engaged in coitus two days ago. (Can tell by stride; indicates recent ejaculation.) Lover wore apricot scented perfume (Ah, Sally. Of course). Reeks of it.   
Owns a small, white dog (fur scattered mid-calf down left trouser leg). How hadn’t he noticed this before? Must be a new pet then. Unexpected. Should be a dinosaur.]

Sherlock deduced each fact with effortless ease, the information spilling from Anderson with hardly any actual brainpower required. 

"Catch any of the criminals?" Sherlock referred to his unnoticed deduction. 

"What?" Anderson spun around to face Sherlock, "Yes— I mean, no. No we didn't catch them. Bloody killers. How did you know?" 

"Your left ankle: injured," Sherlock flicked a casual hand towards it. "You were wearing uncomfortable shoes, fell awkwardly. Didn't expect to quite literally hunt criminals. Thought all that was needed was a simple investigation of the crime scene. Turned out the criminals, or should I say ‘bloody killers’, to put it as you did, had yet to leave. Your unit was insufficiently prepared."

Anderson was astounded though he'd never admit it. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't see through this facade. "But how the hell did you know there were three?"

"Read the recent report." Sherlock smirked. "Made the connection three quarters of a minute ago. Your injury is obviously fresh. Not quite enough damage for the necessity of crutches, but still considerably painful judging by the angle you stand at. Couldn't have been anytime between now and two days ago. You were off duty on Tuesday, so that leaves us with only yesterday and today. And when was there an unanticipated criminal pursuit between now and a day ago? Yesterday, Wednesday evening. Three men; three criminals. Your unit prepared solely for a crime scene investigation. Wasn't a difficult leap."

Anderson simply nodded. Should he be amazed or pissed-off by Sherlock's absolutely correct, yet terribly pretentious deduction? Right now he could only feel admiration. Dammit. "So, have you started the time?" He looked up into Sherlock's pale irises. They were nice. Like the ocean; all greens and blues— Wait, what the fuck was he thinking?

"As soon as you knocked on the door." Sherlock patted his pocket; his gaze locked on Anderson's, noting the new flow of information: 

[Pupils dilated; a circumference increase of approximately 25%.   
Light blush spread across cheeks.   
Lips slightly parted.]

The standard indications of attraction/arousal. 

Sherlock decided it was best he didn't comment.

"Right then. Guess we have to be nice to each other for a whole hour." Anderson bit his lip; obviously displeased with the current predicament.

Sherlock forced a smile. "This way." The detective nonchalantly grasped the man's wrist, leading him up the seventeen steps of stairs. 

Anderson stared down at their entangled hands. Sherlock's calloused fingers were rough, yet gentle against his flesh; the entire hand considerably larger than his own. Damn. He really didn't have an excuse for all those spelling mistakes then, did he? Not that Sherlock would ever hear him bloody well confess to that atrocity. 

Anderson's suntanned skin, too, contrasted vastly in comparison to Sherlock's pale complexion. It looked odd, though he savoured the warmth Sherlock's hand provided. He was sure Sherlock didn't mean anything by it, being a sociopath and all, but Anderson feeling strangely too comfortable with the arrangement, ripped his hand from Sherlock's secure grip. 

For Sherlock, roughly 4.75 seconds was more than enough time to feel the steady beat of a pulse. Anderson's heart rate had significantly quickened at the touch; certainly not as consistent as it should have been. Definitely attraction/arousal. 

Then another thought crossed Sherlock's mind: Anxiety. Did the physical contact make Anderson uncomfortable? Only time would tell. He'd need more evidence. 

So not once did Sherlock allow his observation to sway from the man as they continued their ascent to the top of the staircase.

[Doesn't wish to apply pressure to the heel area of left foot, he noted.   
Slight limp up the stairs. Obvious by the irregular placement of feet. Must have been a nasty fall. (Can practically feel the inconsistency radiating from his entire being. Though gained this knowledge through hearing. No such concept as the existence of ‘feelings’.) ]

At last reaching the summit of the staircase, Sherlock gave the flat's wooden door a firm push. He allowed it to swing open and finally entered the small apartment. He shut the door behind Anderson. 

Anderson recognised the place from when he had worked there on the drugs bust. This time it appeared tidier. Was it because Sherlock expected a guest or just the rare occasion where the flat was actually clean? 

Silence pressed down thick and heavy. The irregular creak and crack of carpeted floorboards pierced the quiet as they stepped forward placing pressure against the various planks of wood. 

Reaching the nearest couch, Anderson sat down awkwardly; the old armchair groaning beneath his weight. Sinking comfortably into the soft material, he took a good look around. 

The dark hues of the flat conveyed a considerably somber mood. The bleak candlelight providing only enough illumination to assure standing upright on both feet.

Squinting his eyes, Anderson could distinguish most of the mismatched furniture in the unaltered positions he'd first seen them. The only differences were the scattered papers and many other items, such as teacups and cushions, which cluttered the apartment, inhabiting nearly all areas.

Stationed in the kitchen, Sherlock poured the prepared boiling kettle water into the two teacups perched upon the bench top. 

"Do you take sugar?" he questioned, for once uncertain of the answer. It was obvious Anderson was dieting. Would he act like Mycroft and accept the sweet substance regardless of his weight loss intention? Sherlock could be vexatious and spoon half the jar into the man's cup, though he knew Anderson would taste it (that being the intention of sugar), meaning he'd fail on his half of the compromise. And he couldn’t allow that.

"Uh, ye— no. No sugar. Thanks." He decided to add the last word for good measure. For the compromise. Nothing more. 

Anderson quietly tapped his fingertips against his knees, apprehensively awaiting Sherlock's company. 

More self-control than Mycroft, Sherlock observed. Intriguing. 

Sherlock headed toward Anderson, easily maneuvering himself around the flat despite the lack of light. He followed the mental map in his mind. For if they were ever to be enveloped in complete darkness, he would be capable of making his way around the entire flat as if it were bathed in daylight. This was of course the reason to which he conducted the study. If there were ever a blackout, Sherlock could easily continue as if it were another ordinary day, so long as he knew where everything was (the reason to which the flat was currently neat). He hardly used electricity. It was irrelevant. If he needed tea, he could use the gas stove and stainless steel kettle. The candles lit at the moment were purely for Anderson's benefit. He quite liked the dark atmosphere himself (fire, too) and didn't want to completely destroy this experiment. 

With two cups of freshly brewed tea in each hand, he offered one to Anderson, who hesitantly accepted. Sherlock set his own teacup and saucer on the table in front of him before taking a seat opposite the man and steepling his fingers.

"Thanks." Anderson murmured quietly, taking the cup with his left hand and sipping at it politely. 

Was he left handed? How couldn't Sherlock have picked up on this earlier? Though this was Anderson. That was an entire argument on its own. 

"I'm not going to say this is pleasant. Because it really isn't." Sherlock spoke quickly and quietly.

Anderson sighed. "I'm finding it a lot harder than I first thought," he replied. "We could... you know, forget the whole 'be nice' thing if it's too uncomfortable for you to not be a... not nice." he finished, narrowly missing calling Sherlock a dick.

"No, we must continue. I can handle it." Sherlock picked up his own teacup and took a sip.

"If you really want to." Anderson replied, and crossed his legs. Left over right. Definitely left handed.

"I can see you're uncomfortable with the current situation. You may leave at any given time." Sherlock deduced casually.

Anderson thought for a minute. "Honestly, I'd rather we just treat each other like we normally do. Like this... it's strange."

"Although I'm hesitant to go back on my word, for once, Anderson, I actually agree with you." Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile. "Ready to give up the façade?"

"Definitely." he replied, actually grinning at how strange it was.

"God, that was tedious." Sherlock breathed out heavily.

Anderson said nothing for a bit and then smirked. "Freak."

"Imbecile." Sherlock grinned back.

Anderson actually laughed with Sherlock for once. "I can't believe it, but this isn't too bad."

"Careful, we don't need to become too friendly." Sherlock smiled, joking.

Anderson shrugged. "Anyway, Sherlock, what is that strange hobby of yours?"

"Patience. All in good time." Sherlock stood up, taking his half-empty teacup into the kitchen and placing it in the sink.

Anderson sighed impatiently and looked at his watch as Sherlock fumbled about in the kitchen.

"Bored already." deduced Sherlock from where he worked in the kitchen. He didn't even need to look at Anderson to come to this conclusion. It was painfully obvious by the stillness and stiffness in his posture (the awkward shuffle of feet or uncomfortable brush of hair from the forehead). 

"Well you're not telling me what I came here for." he grumbled, folding his arms. Right over left. Sherlock peered over at Anderson, the candlelight illuminating his features. 

"You're ambidextrous?" The detective couldn't resist. It was the only possible answer. 

"Yes." Anderson confirmed his deduction. Well that explained it then. Sherlock was sure Anderson had knocked on the door with his right hand. 

"Don't expect it to be that easy gaining my trust." Sherlock's tone turned icy again as he continued with their previous conversation.

"Don't blame me, you're not giving me much to go on." he replied, just as cold.

"If this is too much for you, please leave." Sherlock put on his award-winning fake smile. He walked over to Anderson, finished in the kitchen, and gestured towards the door. "I do not wish for you to be here any longer than necessary."

"Since when did I say I wanted to leave?" Anderson asked, his voice an octave lower.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he tried to come to a conclusion as to Anderson's sudden swing in attitude.

Anderson smirked when he realised Sherlock finally had nothing to say back to him. "I refuse to leave."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "And you think you can simply stay?" Oh, he loved a challenge.

Anderson shrugged. "Nothing's stopping me."

"I am."

"Go on then."

"As you wish," Sherlock walked towards Anderson so he stood in front of him. "Get out now." he hissed.

Anderson stood up, just missing out on matching Sherlock's height with his own. "Make. Me." he whispered. A challenge. 

"Are you sure?" Sherlock's lips curved into a smirk.

"Very."

As soon as the words had slipped from Anderson's lips, Sherlock took in all he was deemed necessary about the man before him:

[One: Gun in left-inner blazer pocket.   
Two: Likely a hidden switchblade in the shoe of his right foot.]

Sherlock decided it best he removed the revolver from Anderson to guarantee his own safety. All these deductions were noted in less than a second.

Sherlock quickly placed his hands on Anderson's shoulders before sidestepping left and winding his right leg around the man's left (though usually the preferred foot, with an injured ankle, he was already slightly unbalanced, thus relying more on his right. It therefore made sense to target it). The detective then put pressure against the back of his knee causing it to give way. 

Concurrently, Sherlock pushed Anderson backwards. At this moment of weakness, the detective plunged his hand into the man's inner pocket, retrieving the revolver and flinging it across the room. 

Anderson fell onto the couch. The entire scenario having played out within the short span of 5 seconds.

Anderson was cursing and yelling throughout the whole ordeal, until finally winded and splayed unceremoniously across the couch. His eyes flicked up at Sherlock with a shocked, perhaps scared expression. 

After finally catching his breath, darkness etched itself across his features. "Sherlock! I wasn't going to use that on you!" He shook his head, "...Talk about taking things too far." he berated. 

"One can never be too careful." Sherlock smiled cruelly before snatching Anderson's wrist and hauling the man to his feet. The detective whirled him at 180° before drawing him in close; arm twisted firmly behind his back.

"Sherlock, stop it! I haven't done anything to you. You have no right to attack me!" he yelled, attempting to wriggle free of Sherlock's iron grip.

"You gave me permission." Sherlock's voice was gravelly as he twisted Anderson's arm further up his back, verging on breaking point.

"Please... Sherlock. Stop." Anderson cried, moaning in pain.

Sherlock ceased the twisting motion. With a firm push forward, he released him.

Anderson wasn't prepared for the sudden freedom and fell flat on his face. He groaned and rolled over. 

Sherlock noted blood trickling from his right nasal passage. Anderson glanced up to lock eyes with Sherlock. A forlorn expression touching at his features; eyes clouded with sorrow. 

Sherlock wasn't one to feel guilty; sympathy being just as ludicrous. Though the matter of 'understanding' was one of the few emotions he didn't completely frown upon. Empathy: something John had helped him rediscover. It was alright to care on occasion, he'd learned; so long as it did not affect The Work. 

And right now, Sherlock felt a stab of pain for the man lying before him. Yes, he knew he'd meant no harm, but Sherlock being Sherlock had once again taken things too far. And he, Sherlock Holmes, accepted this fact. Though, God no, would Anderson ever hear this confession fall from his lips. 

Anderson noticed Sherlock staring and clasped a hand over his nose concealing the view. It took a few attempts to stumble to his feet due to his injured ankle. He had to get away from this insane sociopath.

"You fell by yourself." Sherlock spoke before Anderson could pin the blame him. After all, he truly hadn't meant for that to happen. "Why didn't you fight back? Not so tough after all, are we?" Sherlock's lip twitched in anger. 

Anderson's eyes swept over a box of tissues located next to the couch. He immediately grabbed a whole dozen and held them to his nose, ineffectively stemming the flow of blood. He looked up, glaring at Sherlock. "You had my arm behind my back before I could do anything." he said, his voice muffled by the tissues.

"Your legs, for God's sake, Anderson. I know your left ankle is injured, but there's nothing wrong with the right." Sherlock scowled. "What if I was a murderer? What would you do then? We work in the field of crime, Anderson. It is unsafe to be in this work force without the basic principles of self-defence." 

This was the way in which Sherlock Holmes expressed his concern. Anderson didn't view it as such. 

He shut his eyes, forcing himself not to completely lose it. "Once again, you had my arm twisted behind my back. If I did anything with my legs, you could have dislocated my shoulder." he mumbled. "Also, you're the boxer. I haven't really got the time to teach myself how to fight."

Sherlock chose to ignore Anderson, rather continuing with another relevant thought, "Might I add, perhaps gaining my trust isn't the brightest of ideas, for it would regard us as friends. This is why I prefer to work alone. My friends are taken from me; used against me. It is unsafe. Even John with his military background still falls prey to the traps of my 'fans'."

"You're unbelievable, you are." he exclaimed, glaring at Sherlock, continuing to apply pressure to the bloody tissues at his nose. "You attack me and then berate me when I refuse to fight back. Do you want me to hurt you? Because I am really, really close to blowing my top."

"Oh God, I'm going to regret this..." Sherlock thought aloud and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Though I don't typically feel any form of the nonsensical emotion you call 'regret'; the point remains..." He paused, "For if it will make you feel any better, go ahead: Hit me. Tackle me to the floor, strangle me, use your knife to slice my skin..." Sherlock locked his piercing gaze with Anderson's, "For God's sake, kill me for all I care." As a second thought, he added, "And before you ask—" he paused for dramatic effect, "—I am deadly serious." Thoughtful, Sherlock paused a second time. "In fact, I'd like to see how well you can fight." 

Of course Sherlock did not intend for Anderson to kill him. Not even Sherlock could kill Sherlock. He simply wouldn't allow his death to occur in such a way (to Anderson, of all people. Sherlock scoffed); but it all added to the drama of the situation. He'd like to see how far he would go. Obviously if it got out of hand, Sherlock would step in and turn the situation around. Anderson hadn't gained his trust; he wasn't his friend at this point in time. Sherlock could lie; he did lie. Hell, he even lied to John. Sometimes on a regular basis (for the sake of his experiments and The Work, of course). 

"...You are going to fight back, aren't you?" he asked; voice unsure.

"Do you want me to? Though I'm happy to take it; I have a significant amount of physical self-control. I am certain I can handle it." 

Sherlock paced to and from the room until suddenly ceasing the movement due to the rapid appearance of an exciting idea: an experiment. What if he could turn it into one? John would never hurt him intentionally. Even if he did, Sherlock knew for a fact he wouldn't put as much force or meaning behind the attack as he would a true enemy. Sherlock recalled the incident minutes prior to meeting Irene. John may have punched him then, but he'd purposely missed his mouth and nose, as Irene had delightedly pointed out. Sherlock allowed a brief smile to touch his features as he reflected upon the memory. Oh, John. So loyal. How he'd hate to disappoint that ex-army doctor; for he to ever leave his side. 

Anderson on the other hand wouldn't hold back with Sherlock. This could turn out to be an extremely worthwhile experiment indeed. 

Anderson shook his head exasperated. "This won't end well. I'm already injured enough as it is, and you're saying you want me to kill you? No, Sherlock. I draw the line here."

He thought Sherlock was serious about allowing him the decision of his own fate. Idiot. 

"As you wish. Though it would be beneficial to the current case. ...I'm sure you can keep yourself from killing a man?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

"Look, why don't we just sit down?" Anderson suggested, taking a seat in the corner of the sofa to make his point.

Sherlock agreed, reluctantly taking a seat beside Anderson. "Though if you change your mind, do let me know."

As Sherlock’s body pressed into the soft material of the couch, Anderson immediately grabbed his waist and tackled him to the floor, effectively pinning his wrists.

Sherlock wasn't sure whether he should be grateful, angry or upset. Probably a mixture of all. This was unexpected; Sherlock always knew the end results before they'd even occurred. Anderson had surprised him, and Sherlock liked that. Far more than he should. 

He forced himself to lie limp on the ground as Anderson took control of his body. If he fought back, it would be difficult to gain this man's trust again. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he might need that trust someday.

"There." he huffed, gazing into Sherlock's eyes. "I'm capable of bringing you down. Be thankful I'm not going to punch or hurt you; that wouldn't be very fair of me." he muttered, and removed himself from the floor before returning to the couch. He extended a hand towards Sherlock: a gesture of assistance. 

Sherlock looked up warily at the hand before clasping it in his own: a demonstration of defiance. Instead of allowing himself to be hauled from the ground, Sherlock sprouted a smirk and dragged Anderson back to the floor. He lay face down on Sherlock. "It seems I have the capacity to bring you down all the same."

What Sherlock would do next was completely in the name of his experiment and coincidentally, the current case. 

"Haha, alright." Anderson chuckled nervously. "We've both made our point." he said, attempting to return to his feet.

"No, not quite." Sherlock kept the tension between them firm by wrapping his legs around the man's torso. He then cupped Anderson's face with his hands before crushing their lips together.

Anderson's heart skipped a beat, and a jolt of electricity shot through his body. Before he knew it himself, he had begun to kiss Sherlock back. Breathing heavily, still not quite sure of how, why, or what was happening but still loving it anyway.

Sherlock grinded his hips against Anderson's as he continued to kiss the man before him. Through the investigation of the current case, it was thought the victim had been beaten and then raped.

"Sh-Sherlock…" Anderson breathed, feeling arousal flow through his body.

"Even I... I couldn't have... have predicted this." Sherlock moaned and gasped between words.

"Why?" he whispered, bending in towards Sherlock, kissing him with parted lips.

"You're a prat. A bloody insufferable one too." said Sherlock, smirking into the kiss as he stole Anderson's words.

Anderson didn't give a single damn about whatever Sherlock had called him. This was quite possibly the most amazing snog he’d ever had in his entire life. Anderson grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's raven locks and pulled him in closer.

"Not bad... for my first time." Sherlock acknowledged. He tightened his legs around Anderson before rolling them both over. Now Anderson lay before Sherlock. They never broke the kiss during the switch in positions. 

"First time... kissing?" Anderson asked with incredulity. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip. 

"I'm actually still attempting to fathom the earlier situation. I'm truly astonished you didn't punch me." Anderson flipped them over once more and shoved Sherlock down against the floor, a loud¬ thump resonating throughout the room. He once again grabbed a fistful of the other man's hair, deepening the kiss. "I really thought... thought you'd do it." 

And yes, this was Sherlock's first time kissing… intimately. In all honesty, he'd never really seen any advantage to having done it. But right now it was… different. From afar, he had observed the event often enough to understand its concept. It wasn't difficult to grasp. 

"Well I'm glad to have surprised you." Anderson mumbled, and moved his hands down to Sherlock's backside, squeezing it firmly. A moan escaped the detective’s lips. Sherlock didn't understand how such a gesture could be so simple; yet arousing. 

"I... I trust you."

"That's nice." Anderson replied with a smirk. He continued to grind up against Sherlock's crotch.

"No... No. You... You don't understand," Sherlock stuttered feeling heat shoot directly to his cock. "About my hobby, I mean."

"Go...On...Then..." Anderson encouraged, punctuating each word with a grind.

"I would..." Sherlock whispered the remainder of his answer into Anderson's ear.

"How In-Ter-Es-Ting." he said, once again working hard to move up against Sherlock's cock.

The detective felt his phone vibrate in his shirt pocket. He could check it later.

"Not too... too much, or I'm going to come." Sherlock moaned. But oh, he wanted it so badly at the same time.

"Give me One...Good...Reason why I shouldn't go All...The...Way." he growled lustily, as his rock hard cock pressed up against Sherlock's.

"I c-can't think of any." Sherlock stammered. God, this man. 

Anderson stopped for a moment to undo his zipper, unearthing his cock. He did the same to Sherlock's and gazed at it with lust and admiration. He quickly grabbed both of them in one hand and began to thrust into it alongside Sherlock's.

"Oh, fuck." Sherlock felt his eyes roll backwards, his eyelids hooded. "A-Anderson... M-More pressure.... Harder." he moaned.

Did Sherlock really just swear? Anderson loved this side to him. He re-adjusted his grip on the two members and squeezed them softly before ramming as hard as he could into his hand, grunting and groaning as endorphins flooded his brain.

"Sex... is not dull." Sherlock arched his hips. The floorboards creaking beneath the weight. 

As Anderson thrust, he moved his thumb to the head of Sherlock's dick and began to swirl the pre-cum that had cumulated on top.

"I swear..." Sherlock moaned and panted, "It was a bloody good thing I invited you over."

Anderson heard but didn't respond, fully concentrating on his thrusts.

Should he dare? Yes. "Suck... me." Sherlock breathed deeply, his voice husky with lust.

Anderson quirked an eyebrow at him. "One thing at a time, Sherlock." he chided, slowing his pace.

"I was wrong..." Sherlock sucked in a breath. "You're n-not an idiot. You... You're bloody brilliant."

"Is this just another trick to try and get me to suck you off?" Anderson asked. "You're right. I'm not an idiot.”

Sherlock appeared hurt. "No, of course not." he replied, his voice low and gravely. "This is too... too precious of a moment to be... so cruel. I wouldn't do that to anyone, even you, Anderson."

Anderson looked slightly surprised. "Thanks... I guess," he said. "Do you want me to finish you off?" he spoke casually, as if asking him about the weather.

"You are upset with me," Sherlock deduced. "You know I'm not the kind of person to take part in a 'one night stand', as you call it. I've never had anyone touch me in this... this way before." He paused, "If anything... that's you; not me." Maybe this wasn’t all in the name of his experiment. Or had the hormones that currently surged through him taken complete control of his logical state of mind? 

Anderson looked at Sherlock longingly before placing a hand over his mouth. "You need to learn how to shut up." he said, quite chuffed that he was dominating the dominant and then went absolutely crazy with the thrusting of his hips, sliding up and down Sherlock's cock and creating mind-blowing friction, until finally they came.

"I can't just tur' it on an' off ‘ike a tap." Sherlock's words were muffled due to the hand covering his lips.

Anderson panted from the effort, and removed his hand from Sherlock's mouth. "Whatever." he sighed, collapsing to the floor beside Sherlock.

The feeling of experiencing an orgasm with another person; through external stimulation... It was indescribable. Maybe human beings weren't completely terrible.

"Still think my fingers are lady-like?" Anderson smirked. 

"God, no," replied Sherlock. 

"That's better."

As they lay together, shirtless upon the carpeted-floorboards, both soon heard a jingle of keys. Anderson stared in horror at the door as it creaked open.

"Oh God, Sherlock." John covered his eyes. "You could have warned me!" he exclaimed, walking through the entrance. He wore his usual cream-woollen jumper and blue jeans; a coat slung over his arm. Anderson prayed with silent gratitude that the room was mostly candlelit resulting in a dim atmosphere. He didn’t need Watson seeing any more than necessary.

John paused, "Hang on, is that Anderson?" He lifted a finger to take another look before deciding that that was a terrible idea. He slapped the hand back into place.

"John, you aren't meant to be here yet." 

"I sent you a text. I'd be coming home early."

"I was busy."

"I can see that, Sherlock." he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. 

Anderson quickly zipped his pants closed and stood. "John." he stated. 

"Anderson..." John replied slowly.

They stood there awkwardly before Anderson spoke again, "Well, good day to you both." Anderson scampered out the door.

With Anderson out of earshot, John gestured uncontrollably as he stammered over words, cutting himself short almost the entire time, "Was that—? Tell me that wasn't— Sherlock, how could you? Shagging Anderson. Anderson. " John mimed the last word before placing his hands on his hips, "Alright, what did I miss." 

"It seems I discovered quite a few things about Anderson today." For it seemed Anderson did indeed swing in more way than one, and no, Sherlock wasn’t talking about his ambidexterity.

"Well, it would certainly seem so," John exaggerated his words. "Be surprised if you didn't, actually," he said, muttering the last bit to himself. 

"Are you jealous?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, smirking. 

John scoffed, "Hardly."

Sherlock wasn't convinced. 

John held his hands up. "Whatever you do in your spare time, Sherlock, that's completely up to you." He stated, an amused expression touching his features.

He then walked into the kitchen. "Tea, I need tea." he muttered.

"John?"

"Hmm?" 

"I think I just solved the case. There was one part I did not take into consideration."

"...And what was that?"

"Sex."

"Sherlock, I did not need to know that." He turned the kettle on, hoping to prevent further inappropriate sentences travelling to his ears.

"Physically hurting each other and then a quite decent shag, to be exact."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. Obviously the kettle wasn't working well enough. He covered his ears. 

He would take his tea straight upstairs after it had boiled. "Brew," he prayed quietly to himself. "Brew at the speed of boil."

Sherlock shot him a look filled with utter disgrace—directed right at his intelligence.

Yes, I know boil isn't a speed.

A pause.

For God's sake, of course I know it is physically impossible for anything to brew at the speed of boil. John rolled his eyes staring at Sherlock. 

Sherlock turned back to his work, once again content.

How they could talk through expressions, John didn't know. 

"Sex... So many newfound possibilities. I'll need to experiment."

"What?" John spluttered incredulously. Thank God he wasn't drinking tea. It would be spat out across the floor. 

"Sex. Not dull. Pleasurable. Experiments... Necessary."

John picked up his recently brewed tea. After adding milk, he took a small sip and leant against the table. Perhaps he'd stay here after all. This sure was an unusually interesting conversation Sherlock was having with himself. The man barely spoke of the subject. John found it hard to believe he even could.

"John, you would make an excellent candidate for an experiment."

John shouldn't have drunk his tea.

He shouldn't have made tea. He shouldn't have been holding a delicate teacup. Bloody hell, he should have gone straight to his bedroom as soon as he'd arrived. Or better yet, exited the flat as soon as he'd walked in. John should have called first. A text wasn't enough. Sherlock could have been doing anything (and, Jesus Christ, he was doing something. Or should he say someone). In fact, he should have stayed with Stamford. Or not gone out at all. Anderson wouldn't have come over if John were here. Surely. Right? Please, dear God let him be right. 

Sherlock was streaming a completely different set of thoughts through his intelligent mind. Ignoring John and his nonsensical dilemmas, the detective reflected on previous cases that may or may not have involved sex. There might have been several overlooked aspects. 

Perhaps Sherlock wouldn't delete his deductions on Anderson after all.


End file.
